


Holiday Punch

by JungleKitty



Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [12]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 20:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: Holiday parties, am I right?





	Holiday Punch

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 1998 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is #12 in the entire series, and part of the Stories of the First Five-Year Mission (2264-2269).

Jim Kirk smiled ruefully at the sign on the apartment door.

Abandon rank, all ye who enter here.

Captain Brandt had been thrilled when he'd told her that he'd be in San Francisco over New Year's, but...

"...there's a party..." she explained tentatively.

"Can't you skip it?"

"Not really. It's at my apartment."

The impressive level of noise coming through the door told him that the party was in full swing and pressing the chime would be pointless. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The apartment was literally packed with people. All the furniture had been pushed back to the walls, and the center of the floor was taken up by frenetic dancing. People holding drinks were talking loudly to be heard over the music.

Suddenly he was pushed back against the door by a large canine jumping at him in friendly greeting.

"Luke!" He pushed the dog down to the floor and scratched his ears affectionately. "How are you, boy?"

A man in front of Kirk turned around and grabbed his hand in a hearty handshake.

"Jim Kirk! Happy New Year!"

The smiling face was familiar in a vaguely distorted way, and, after a moment, Kirk realized that it was Suzanne's younger brother. They'd met once or twice when he'd visited his sister at the Academy. What was his name--Dan? No--

"Dennis! Good to see you."

The younger Brandt turned and shouted, "Hey, Suzanne! The fleet's in!"

Kirk flushed with embarrassment, wondering if that perverse humor ran through the entire family.

"Jim!" Suzanne burst out of the crowd and threw her arms around him, hugging him hard. "Ugh! You're all wet."

"It's raining," he explained as he hugged her back.

"Take off your jacket and I'll hang it up where it'll dry."

Kirk removed his leather jacket and was handing it to Suzanne when Dennis yelled, "Uniform!"

Several other people took up the shout and moved towards Kirk menacingly. Suzanne pushed him back against the door and stood in front of him protectively.

"He didn't know! Back off! Dennis, I mean it!"

"Party pooper," Dennis grumbled as he flagged away the others who had reacted so violently to the sight of a Starfleet uniform.

"What was that?" Kirk asked in amazement.

"I've just rescued you from being stripped naked and thrown out into the street," Brand explained.

"No uniforms at this party," Dennis chimed in.

"They wouldn't really--"

"Why do you think Commodore Skorheim is wearing my bathrobe?" Brandt cocked her head discreetly toward a tall, red-haired man clad in pink and white chenille.

"You pants'd your CO?!"

"Not me." She held her hands up defensively.

"But she did give him her ugliest robe," her brother pointed out.

Kirk turned away, choking on laughter.

"Well," Brandt chuckled. "I had to have some fun."

"Never get on her bad side, Jim." Dennis patted him on the back and disappeared into the crowd.

"Do you have something else you can wear?" she asked with genuine concern.

"Yes. Where can I change?"

"Hmmm. Good question. The bedroom's full of people, and there's a line for the bathroom." She looked around. "Stay here." She pushed her way into the crowd and returned with an access card. "Come with me."

She led him across the hall to an apartment that was much quieter, much cooler, and much more private than the one they'd just left. As the door shut behind them, they flew into each other's arms and enjoyed a long, passionate embrace. When they broke for air, she said, "Come on," and pulled him toward the bedroom.

"Won't your friend mind?"

"I doubt it. When she gave me the key, she said, 'Help yourself to *anything*.'"

***

Clad comfortably in a sweater and slacks and feeling utterly relaxed, Kirk returned to the party. He was immediately accosted by a man with shaggy, gray hair who introduced himself as "the Wolf." Draping a furry arm over Kirk's shoulder, he asked, "This your first time at one of Suzanne's parties?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. All right, listen up, man. The orgy starts promptly at one. I get first crack--you'll pardon the expression--at any Vulcans who come in. And take it easy on the punch. It's full of Arcadian aphrodisiacs, and they'll blow your fuckin' head off."

He patted Kirk's crotch affectionately and loped away.

Kirk made his way to the kitchen where he found the hostess filling bowls with snack food. He was certain--well, almost certain--that she wouldn't serve an illegal substance to her CO, but, thinking guiltily of his secret cache of Romulan ale, he decided it never hurt to make sure.

"Brandt, is there anything in the punch?"

She sighed. "*No*. Have you been talking to the Wolf?"

"Yes. Who is he?"

"He's the building superintendent. He watches the dog when I'm gone. Everytime I go offworld, he begs me to bring him Arcadian aphrodisiacs." She rolled her eyes. "Like I'm going to risk my career so he can get laid."

"He also said the orgy starts promptly at one." Kirk smiled puckishly.

"He wishes." She picked up two bowls and headed for the living room. "The orgy never starts before three."

***

Shortly before midnight, the two captains were pulled into a conversation with four other people. Kirk recognized Commander Jack Wallis, Brandt's exec, but the other three were strangers.

"Suzanne, you're just in time. Who would you do--?"

"I'm not playing, Jack," she cut him off quickly.

The others booed, and Suzanne frowned. "Jim, do you remember when you said Special Ops sounded silly? Well, these are the champs--Jack Wallis, his wife Gail, Nels Jorgensen, Shelley k'Vor--Jim Kirk."

Kirk had heard about Lieutenants Jorgensen and k'Vor--they were part of the crack team Brandt had assembled.

"Who would you do?" Wallis pressed her. "Nogura or Komack?"

The group's reactions ranged from painful wincing to simulated retching.

"I refuse to answer such a ridiculous question," Brandt replied loftily.

"Then you will suffer the consequences," Wallis retorted with an evil grin.

"Which are?"

Gail Wallis nudged Suzanne. "They make them up after you refuse."

"If I were you, Brat, I'd answer." Kirk squeezed her hand.

"Brat?" Wallis repeated.

/Turnabout is fair play/ Kirk thought wickedly, looking forward to watching her squirm. He only regretted that there wasn't a Vulcan among her officers.

"All right, I'll answer," she said quickly, neatly sidestepping Wallis' curiosity. "I'd do Komack's wife in a minute--" The other players nodded in agreement. "--so I'll say Komack in hopes that she would join in." Her answer met with unanimous approval. "Now is it my turn to ask?"

"No, it's Shelley's," said Jorgensen, apparently the moderator of the game.

The youngest member of the group smirked at Wallis. "This is for you, Jack. Who would you do--Kirk or Brandt?"

"Ooooooh." Wallis turned a long, assessing gaze on two very attractive choices. Then he took k'Vor's hand and pleaded, "Can't I have them both?"

"Greedy bastard," Suzanne chided him.

"All right, I'd do...Kirk."

Brandt, hating to be second in anything, reacted coolly. "Really."

"No offense...and I mean this in the nicest way possible..." her first officer equivocated. "You scare me."

Brandt jerked a thumb in Kirk's direction as she shouted over the laughter, "And *he* doesn't?"

"I don't know him as well as I know you."

Enjoying Suzanne's disgruntlement, Kirk said craftily, "You know, he's right. Of the two of us, you are by far the more frightening."

"*Now* it's your turn." Jorgensen pointed to Brandt.

Suzanne carefully scrutinized the players. "All right." She turned to Kirk, her eyes twinkling maliciously. "Jim. Who would you do--"

Someone shouted, "It's midnight!" and Kirk swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply. And, with some neat sidestepping of his own, he also managed to maneuver her away from the game.

***

An hour later, Kirk was standing in the bedroom doorway, describing the Shore Leave planet to Jack Wallis when the Wolf ambled by. Pointing to a spot above their heads, he snarled, "You know, that mistletoe ain't hangin' up there 'cause it's so damn pretty."

And one second later, Kirk was being kissed by Captain Brandt's executive officer.

He remembered an Academy bull session in which Gary Mitchell attempted to amuse his classmates with a joke he'd discovered in an antique periodical.

*What's the difference between a straight man and a gay man? Six beers.*

Unfortunately, the humor was lost on his comrades, none of whom were familiar the antiquated concepts of "straight" and "gay."

Recalling his roommate's chagrined explanation, Kirk thought /Well, I've had five./ He put his hands on Wallis' shoulders and kissed him back.

It was not at all unpleasant but when the commander's tongue got a little too busy, Kirk pulled away.

"I've been told that the orgy never starts before three," he said carefully as he moved out of the doorway.

"The orgy," Wallis snorted in dismissal. "The closest we've ever come to an orgy was when Vice-Admiral Ciani dared Captain Brandt to lick butterscotch off her tits."

Kirk turned and stared at him.

"She never told you about that?" Wallis asked. "It's a great story. Let's get a beer."

***

Although it had stopped raining, it was still very cold on the balcony. But there was nowhere else to have a private conversation and, after the crush inside, the chilly night air was a welcome change. Kirk pulled two beers out of the cooler and handed one to Wallis.

"So tell me about this--butterscotch incident."

"First you tell me something. Why do you call the captain Brat?"

Kirk grinned. "It was her nickname at the Academy. It's short for Brat-I-mean-Brandt. And because that's what she is." A beat. "And I mean that in the nicest way possible."

Wallis laughed as he nodded appreciatively.

"So...the butterscotch?"

"Well, it happened at the captain's midsummer night party. You know Ciani's reputation, don't you?"

Kirk nodded. First contact--the Federation, second contact--Ciani. Secretly, he was a little grateful to the libidinous vice-admiral. Her extra-curricular activities made his look positively pedestrian.

"Well, for a while she was really hot for Captain Brandt and she had way too much to drink that night. She got a bottle of butterscotch from the kitchen, took off her shirt, laid down in the middle of the living room and poured it on herself. Then she dared Brandt to lick it off."

"Oh no."

"Our brave captain knelt down beside her and--you've heard that sexy voice she can do, haven't you?"

"Yes." /But I'm a little surprised you have./

"She whispered, 'Close your eyes, Lori.'" He chuckled maliciously. "Ciani just about dissolved on the spot. So she closed her eyes--and--" He was laughing so hard he could hardly get the words out. "Brandt waved the dog over--and--had him--lick it off!"

Taken by surprise in mid-swallow, Kirk laughed explosively, spewing beer off the balcony. Clutching the railing, he collapsed gleefully on the cold tiles, choking and snorting.

"Sorry, Kirk," Wallis guffawed. "I--didn't see--you were--drinking--" He fell into the only plant that Brandt had ever kept alive.

"It's all right," Kirk chortled as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I like--drinking beer--through my nose!"

They rocked with wild hilarity, Wallis remembering and Kirk imagining the bizarre scene in Brandt's living room. Finally, regaining a modicum of self-control, their laughter faded into groaning chuckles.

"To Captain Brandt," Wallis intoned, raising his beer in a toast. "The pride of Special Ops."

***

As the evening wore on, Kirk realized that most of the civilians were neighbors from the apartment building, each of whom greeted him with a knowing smile. Joining Suzanne near the punchbowl, he was about to question her when she pressed a cup of the fruity concoction into his hands and demanded with mock severity, "What did you mean by that remark about me being frightening?"

"Oh, come on, Brandt," he scolded teasingly. "I've been around the block more than once--"

"The *block*!"

"--and you are the only woman--" he confided in a sly whisper, "whose orgasm has practically thrown me across the room!"

"Well," she flushed proudly, "if I'm too much woman for you, JT--"

"I wouldn't go that far. I'd say you're just about--enough."

He kissed her bare shoulder, and she shivered. He was delighted that her dress showed off her shapely legs, but, cut very low in the back, it also exposed a large expanse of lovely and very sensitive skin. Thinking of the crowded room and the many hands casually brushing those smooth shoulders, he considered the possibility that she would be *more* than enough when the party finally wound down. And on the subject of casual contact...

"What do your neighbors know about me?"

"This is a very old building, JT. Not *soundproof*," she explained pointedly as she folded her hands behind his neck. "Aside from everything else, they probably heard the crash the night my beautiful, antique wooden bed was reduced to kindling."

Brimming with satisfaction, he slipped his arms around her waist, and retorted smoothly, "Well, I've always said anyone worth doing is worth doing well."

"Funny," Brandt replied, dropping her voice to the throaty purr that had almost melted Vice-Admiral Ciani. "I've always said anyone worth doing--is worth doing *slowly*."

"Oh, children, *please*," a husky, world-weary voice interrupted.

Turning to face an exotic woman clad entirely in leather, they realized too late that their conversation had been overheard.

Drawing her words out slowly and tapping a riding crop against the palm of her hand, the commanding creature chastised them imperiously, "Don't you know...that anyone worth doing...is worth *hurting*?"

Her mouth curved up in a perverse smile as she gave Kirk a long, discriminating once-over. Then she swatted his ass with the riding crop and sauntered away, leaving two awestruck captains staring after her.

"Who was *that*?" Kirk asked in an stunned whisper.

"That's Killa." Brandt swallowed uncomfortably. "From across the hall. Where we--"

"There *is* something in the punch, isn't there?"

"No, I swear!" The hostess surveyed the room in consternation. "But apparently a lot of people think there is."

***

It was nearly four when the last of the guests said their farewells. Kirk dragged the sofa over to the hearth, threw another log on the fire and sank down into the cushions. Brandt flopped down next to him and kicked off her shoes. She looked at him pleadingly.

"All right," he sighed, pulling her feet into his lap.

She indulged in a long, cat-like stretch as he began rubbing the soles. "Mmmmmmm. When do you have to go back?"

"In about seven hours."

"So soon?"

"It's the best I could do."

"Well, stop wasting time on my feet."

She turned and crawled toward him, her eyes lit with sudden and demanding desire. Pushing him down into a reclining position, she stretched out on top of him and claimed his mouth with her own. After tantalizing his lips and tongue for long, enticing moments, she blazed a trail of kisses along his jaw.

"Is that all I am to you--a sex partner?" he asked in feigned offense.

"For the next seven hours--yes," she murmured and tickled his ear with her tongue. He sighed happily and ran his hands over her back, enjoying her shiver of delight.

"I have a present for you," she whispered seductively.

"It's not cowboy boots, is it?"

"Next year," she laughed. "Along with chaps. And *spurs*." She stood and took his hand. "And, just in case you were wondering, *I* will be wearing the spurs."

She pulled him to his feet and led him to her desk, where she sat him down in front of the computer.

"Wait here."

She went into the bedroom, and he heard drawers being opened and shut. Either the gift was in many pieces or she'd forgotten where she'd put it. He was getting a little restless when she reappeared wearing a short robe of navy blue silk. Pulling up a chair, she sat down next to him and handed him a disk.

"Sorry it's not wrapped. I wasn't sure if I was going to give it to you."

Eyeing her curiously, he slipped the disk into the slot. The computer requested a retinal scan.

"What is this?" he asked in bewilderment.

"You'll see. Give it your ID."

"Identification Captain James T. Kirk."

"Working," the computer responded flatly as it displayed the bridge of the Enterprise. Kirk was in the command chair. Brandt entered from the turbolift, wearing the short-skirted uniform of a yeoman.

"Computer, stop playback!"

The image froze. Unknowingly, he'd stopped it at almost precisely the same point Brandt had when she first saw it.

"What is this?" he demanded in an awestruck whisper.

"It's your fantasy night on the Enterprise," she replied coyly. "Don't you remember?"

"You told me it wasn't recorded."

"Well, I sort of...lied. The monitors were active, but they transmitted to my computer instead of spacedock security's." She shrugged. "I didn't think you'd, um, perform naturally if you knew."

His eyes narrowed as he frowned at her.

"So...do you want to watch it?" she asked, daring him implicitly.

"All right," he said carefully. He turned back to the screen. "Computer, resume playback."

***

Twenty minutes later, they were squirming in embarrassment and arousal, captivated by their, um, performance.

On the screen, Brandt's uniform was torn open from neck to hem and she was lying at Kirk's feet in front of the command seat. Kirk, fully clothed, stood above her and said quietly, "Show yourself to me, yeoman."

She spread her legs, and he nodded approvingly. He removed his uniform, never taking his eyes off her, and knelt between her legs.

"I said show yourself to me."

She spread her sex with her hands. He reached under her knees and pushed them up and apart, exposing her obscenely.

"Please, Captain," she moaned.

"Tell me, yeoman--" he started in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Computer, stop playback!" Kirk ordered hoarsely. He turned to Brandt and noted the quick pulse in her throat. "I don't want to watch this. I want to *do* this."

"Yes!" she cried eagerly, and they jumped up and ran to the bedroom.

***

The tiny lamp on the dresser gave off just enough light for Kirk to locate the necessities in his kit. Hastily shucking off his clothing, he approached the bed where Suzanne waited, naked and still.

He lay down beside her, and they kissed and clutched each other hungrily for a very long time. Then he got up and stood at the end of the bed, deliberately turning his most seductive smile on her. She propped herself up on her elbows and raised her eyebrows, daring him to continue.

"Show yourself to me," he said.

She spread her legs as a enigmatic smile played across her face.

"I said, show yourself to me." He tried to sound stern and failed miserably.

"Cut to the chase," she replied with an arrogant toss of her head.

"All right."

Chuckling naughtily, he crawled toward her wet, golden triangle. She growled playfully as he nuzzled her belly. With beguiling deliberation, he reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a tube of lubricant. Then, copying his own movements from the recording, he pushed her knees up and apart. He squeezed a healthy dollop of lubricant onto the tiny, quivering pucker that he'd entered only once before.

The thick ointment was cold, and she gasped and convulsed sharply. But he held her legs open, and she felt his thumb rubbing the slickness into her. Gradually, she relaxed and moved voluptuously under the erotic massage.

With his free hand, he squeezed some lubricant onto his cock and coated himself. He touched her clitoris, and she moaned throatily so he rubbed there too, matching the motion that was preparing her anus.

When she was thrusting hard and fast against his hands, he stopped the seductive caressing and pulled her hips up onto his thighs. He pressed the head of his cock against an opening that was surely too small to accommodate it.

"All right?"

"Yes," she panted.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned in and penetrated her.

"Oh god," she moaned.

Her muscles contracted, and he waited, reveling in the almost painful pressure on the head of his cock.

"Relax," he whispered, gently stroking her wet folds. Involuntarily, her rectum tightened and released, fought and gave in, resisted and submitted, and he moved steadily forward.

Finally, all the way in, he rocked against her. She was hot and unbelievably tight, and he knew the urge to fuck her in long, powerful strokes would soon become irresistible. Especially if she kept squeezing that way.

He pressed his hands against her buttocks and slid his cock out, just a little, no more than an inch, then back in again. Yes. Again, a little more. Oh, yes. And again. Increasing the length of each stroke, he held back as much as possible, struggling against his own desires, fighting the relentless urge to just--just--

He forced himself to stop. Not yet.

He opened his eyes and looked at Suzanne. Eyes tightly shut, she was fondling her clitoris, the way he'd ordered her to that night on the bridge. Watching her carefully, he slid his hand under the pillow, retrieving what he'd hidden there while they were kissing. Something new for the scenario.

He looked down. His cock was buried up to the hilt, and the tender flesh above it was wet and throbbing. Surely wet enough for this.

Suzanne's eyes and mouth flew open in sudden astonishment as Kirk pressed the head of a very large dildo into her pussy.

***

"What--?!" she gasped as she frantically pushed up onto her elbows.

Slowly, wordlessly, he slid the phallus all the way in, and she fell back with an anguished groan of molten pleasure. As her head hit the pillows, she heard a sharp click! and the ungiving hardness began vibrating.

With a wild cry, she covered her face as she felt all restraint slipping from her. This is *pleasure*, this is *good*, this is beyond--

Click!

The vibrations intensified, and she writhed in lush abandon, incapable of any thought except *yes*--sweet, all-embracing *yes*.

Then, sighing and moaning, floating in the soft, languid contentment of--of--

Oh god, it was starting again--because Jim was fucking her--*really* fucking her--fucking her ass in strong, crushing strokes.

Click!

Filled both fore and aft in a way she'd never been before, she thrashed in an unbridled frenzy, ravished by the tempestuous rhythms of both her partners, man and manmade. She felt something like fear as she dimly realized that she had never truly lost control. Until now.

Stop! I can't!

She thought she said the words, but all she heard was an urgent voice joyously crying his name over and over because it was so *good*--so unbelievably *good*--

Through a delirium of swirling rapture, she envisioned Jim feeling the vibrations through the walls that separated rectum and vagina. She heard him grunting harshly as he thrust into her and the sharp intake of air as he approached his climax. And, at last, the hoarse cry--"Suzanne!"--stripped her bare, and she was swept away, lost and screaming in the throes of shattering, unending release.

***

They held each other close for a very long time, almost hiding under the quilt that Jim had pulled up over them. More than a little unnerved, they kissed gently, reassuringly, and finally re-established their equilibrium with an indulgent fit of embarrassed giggling.

"Oh, god," Suzanne moaned. "We must be *insane*."

"Are you *sure* there wasn't something in that punch?" Jim asked shakily.

"Frankly, I'm beginning to hope there was. I would hate to think we come up with these things on our own."

***

Kirk awoke a few hours later with an uncomfortable weight on his side. Thinking that the dog had once again snuck into bed with them, he reached down. Encountering soft, curly hair instead of the coarse coat he'd expected, he realized that Brandt was using his hip as a pillow. He opened his eyes and saw her knees a few inches from his face.

"Happy New Year," he murmured as he kissed a kneecap.

"Same to you." Her voice was rough with sleep and she scratched his back lazily.

"Mmmm." He arched against her fingertips and she lowered her head, rubbing her cheek against his growing erection.

He pushed her knees apart and kissed the insides of her thighs. She scratched his ass vigorously and licked the tip of his penis. He grunted with satisfaction and rolled her onto her back. As he spread her sex and applied his mouth, her tongue began caressing his shaft.

They pleasured each other gently for several sweet minutes until Suzanne suddenly pulled back, yelping, "Stop! Stop!" Hearing genuine panic in her voice, Kirk lifted his head in surprise.

"What?!" He couldn't possibly have been hurting her.

"Let me up!" she cried urgently. "The dog's licking my feet!"

Kirk rolled away laughing, as Brandt pushed Luke off the bed and chased him out of the room. She lay down next to her amused lover and shuddered.

"That was--*sick*."

Kirk chuckled as he put his arms around her. "Poor Luke," he said sympathetically. "He just wants to know if all women taste like butterscotch."

"I never told you about that--"

"Commander Wallis did."

"Hmph. Well. We are *not* having a threesome with the dog. That's where I draw the line."

"Thank god. I was starting to wonder where that was."

***

Over breakfast, Kirk sipped his coffee thoughtfully as he studied the woman across the table. He set his cup down gently, cleared his throat, and said, "About that recording."

"Yes?" Brandt's eyes sparkled at him.

"Was it sent to your computer at headquarters or the one here?"

"Here, of course. The one at HQ is too heavily shielded."

"Hmm. Interesting. I could've sworn that, right before we left that night, you performed a maintenance and shutdown of your system."

"I'm sure you're wrong, JT," she said, calmly buttering a muffin.

"Care to show me the maintenance logs?"

After a long moment, she sighed, acknowledging defeat.

"Where did you get the recording, Suzanne?"

She met his eyes steadily. "Commodore Fielding gave it to me."

"Commodore Fielding," he repeated carefully. "The head of spacedock security."

"Yes."

"How did he happen to have it?"

Her lips twitched under the pressure of repressed laughter as she remembered her panic when she first learned of the recording. She knew exactly what he was feeling and almost felt sorry for him.

"This isn't funny," he said sternly.

"Yes, it is!" She briefly gave into a short burst of breathless laughter and continued, "Look, Jim, Fielding doesn't care that we had a--fuckfest on your bridge. He hasn't even seen the recording. He told me so, and I believe him."

"So he just handed this over to you without any comment?"

"Well, I did a few hours of punishment duty for breaking into the security computers."

"When did all this happen?"

"Right after our camping trip."

"And I'm only hearing about it *now*?"

"There was no reason to involve you."

"No reason!"

"I was the one who overrode the security protocols," she explained with an air of patient condescension.

"*I* gave you the prefix code," he reminded her stubbornly.

"Fielding doesn't know that."

"How does he think you got in--a lucky guess?" he snapped.

"I told him I got the prefix code from the Fleet security files," she explained in a biting tone that was the first sign of a temper about to be lost.

He beat her to it. "Goddammit, Brandt, you were going to take the rap on this alone, weren't you?"

She quickly caught up and more than matched his anger. "Hell, yes! And you would have done the same!"

"That's not the point--!"

"It is *precisely* the point!" She slammed her fist on the table. "You can't tell me that if you'd been called on the carpet like I was, you would've said, 'Yes, sir, I broke into your computers and, by the way, Captain Brandt helped!'"

She stood, eyes blazing with righteous outrage, as she spat, "You're just mad because, for once, you're not the hero!"

She gathered up the dishes and stormed into the kitchen.

For several minutes, Kirk listened to cupboard doors slamming and dishes clattering, trying to decide how angry he was, or if he was even angry at all. He should be angry, shouldn't he? Maybe he only thought he was angry.

Still debating, he got up, stood in the doorway and watched her kick a recycling bin across the room.

"What is the meaning of this tantrum?" he inquired evenly.

Her low, intense voice underscored the very real threat of her words. "Look. I'm very angry right now. I need to throw something around. It's either this--" She picked up a sauce pan. "Or you."

She slammed the pan down on the counter.

"Stop it right now!" He closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders. "You win! You're right!" He let go of her, muttering gruffly, "I would have done the same thing."

Her anger cooling only slightly, she snapped, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he retorted curtly.

An uncomfortable silence permeated the room for a long moment of unbecoming sulking and embarrassed discomfiture. Command training was very thorough, but it didn't cover patching up a lovers' spat with a fellow officer.

Rolling her eyes, Brandt heaved a sigh of resignation and gestured uncomfortably.

"Do you forgive me for--not ratting you out?"

It was such a ridiculous--and keenly accurate--question that he laughed softly, finally seeing the irony of the situation. He could hardly be angry with her for doing exactly what he would have done.

"Yes." He smiled and put his arms around her. "But you should have told me the truth about that recording," he scolded gently.

"Would you have told me?" she asked, affably needling him.

"Let's not start that again. Kiss and make up?"

She glanced at the kitchen chron. "Well, we can kiss, but there really isn't time to make up."

Inwardly cursing the temporal limitations, he pressed his mouth to hers in tender reconciliation.

"And to be honest--I don't think I could make up," she confessed, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I ache in places I didn't know I had places."

He grinned maliciously. "What was it your friend said? 'Anyone worth doing--'"

"Don't say it."

A second delicious round of peacemaking ended abruptly when, his mouth against hers, Kirk started chuckling.

"You see?" she cried in delight. "I *told* you it was funny!"

"I admit there are some amusing aspects to the situation," he acknowledged with cheerful indulgence. "Picturing you in the hot seat in Commodore Fielding's office, for one. And for another..."

He stood very straight and paced around her, gesturing dramatically as he intoned, "Here we have Captain Brandt. Ace computer hacker. Crack covert operative. The pride of Special Ops." He backed her into a corner and rested his hands on the counter on either side of her. "And not only does she botch the break-in--she gets caught on the cover-up!"

"Not fair!" she objected indignantly. "I had a very good reason for everything I did!"

He cocked his head, gently and merrily mocking her.

"Isn't that what Nixon said?"

***

"Captain, there's a message coming in for you."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"It's from Pixley Florists in San Francisco."

Kirk felt an uncomfortable tingle creep up his spine. With less than two minutes until their scheduled departure from spacedock, there wasn't time to retreat to his cabin and deal with the matter privately. He swiveled in the command chair and faced the communications officer.

"Yes, Uhura?"

"It's about your order of a dozen roses for Captain Brandt, sir. They want to know what to put on the card."

All conversation on the bridge stopped.

In as even and matter-of-fact a tone as he could muster, the captain of the Enterprise said, "Warmest regards. James T. Kirk."

He heard a snort of stifled laughter and swiveled quickly. Both Sulu and Chekhov were diligently applying themselves to their appointed tasks. He looked around at the too-innocent bridge crew, knowing how entertained he would've been had this happened to someone else.

Ignoring a discreetly hoisted eyebrow from his Vulcan science officer, he sat back, taking a small measure of comfort in McCoy's absence from the bridge. A true southern gentleman at heart, the CMO would have been outraged. Correction--*will* be outraged. Thanks to the inevitable shipboard gossip, Kirk knew he would be ragged unmercifully before the day was out. And the doctor wouldn't be the only one taking him to task.

With a sinking feeling, he contemplated Captain Brandt's reaction to his cautious formality. Regardless of whether she found the message humorous or insulting, her response would almost certainly be...noteworthy. It might have been wiser to endure a moment's embarrassment and indulge in a more appropriate sentiment.

"Excuse me, Captain."

Lieutenant Uhura approached the command chair.

"My apologies, sir, but I couldn't hear you over all the noise. Is this what you said?"

She pushed her comm pad into his hands. He looked down and saw two neatly printed words.

Love, Jim

He felt the color rising in his face.

"Yes, exactly. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Anytime, sir."

She smiled knowingly. Just like Brandt's neighbors.


End file.
